


Visions of Sugar Plumbs

by five_of_five



Category: Inception
Genre: 5 Things, Community: inception_kink, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-18 23:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/five_of_five/pseuds/five_of_five
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Inception Kink Meme prompt: 5 Times Eames whispered something sweet to Arthur and 1 time Arthur whispered something sweet to Eames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visions of Sugar Plumbs

**Author's Note:**

> Link to original [prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/13659.html?thread=30825563#t30825563)  
> Posted at my [LiveJournal](http://five-of-five.livejournal.com/6827.html)  
> Warnings: None really...unless you count schmoop...yeah, we should probably count schmoop.  
> Disclaimer: I don't own it.  
> 

1)  
“Arthur… _Arthur_ , look!” Eames tugged on Arthur’s hand incessantly. “Look, Arthur, can you believe it? Arthur...Arrrrrthuuuuuuu-“

“ _What?!_ ” Arthur hissed. They were following their latest mark through Glasgow and Eames was drawing far too much attention hopping around like a toddler who needed to pee. “What in the name of God could possibly be so damn important, Eames?!”

Eames leaned in close to Arthur, and with the air of a man imparting the greatest secrets of the universe whispered, “Mars Bars, Arthur. Deep fried Mars Bars,” Eames’ lips brushed Arthur’s ear. “Right. Over. There.”

The bastard pointed. He pointed right at the mark, well technically to the food stand behind him. The man would have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to have noticed.

Arthur turned his head, Eames lips ghosting across his cheek until Arthur stopped with their lips a hairsbreadth from touching.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Darling,” Eames tongue darted out, wetting their lips. “After I eat my body weight in deep fried Mars Bars…you won’t have too.”

  
2)  
“Fudge!”

“Eames, are you trying to clean up your language?”

“No Arthur,” Eames whispered excitedly, lifting the lid off of the crate he’d just opened. “Fudge!”

“…The top secret warehouse Mr. Reynolds uses to store the mysterious crates he smuggles in from the Republic of Turkey…are filled with fudge?”

“Looks like it, do you think he’d miss a crate?” Eames asked as he dove headfirst into the container.

“Eames, we can’t steal the man’s fudge!”

“Why not? We’re thieves, Arthur. It’s what we do,” Eames pointed out quite reasonably.

“We steal secrets, not baked goods.”

“Well I think it’s about damn time we start doing a little of both.”

“I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about sweets again,” Arthur plopped down onto a nearby box. “How is this my life?”

“Firstly, we’re not arguing, we’re discussing. Secondly,” Eames continued, his voice sounding hollow as it echoed through the crate. “I was right about the Mars Bars. The mark was suspicious that we were following him and by calling attention to ourselves we were able to defuse the situation, remove his scrutiny and plant a tracker on his person while he was in deep fried heaven.”

“And you eating half a dozen candy bars was a complete coincidence?”

“More of a fringe benefit, darling,” Eames glanced up, a grin brightening his face. “Lastly Arthur, don’t be so dramatic, your life is wonderful. You have suits worth more than the rent on your flat, enough weaponry to take out a small European country, and me.”

“I thought you were trying to cheer me up.”

“Arthur dearest, your suits may tear, your guns may jam, but _I_ will always have your back.” Arthur stared at Eames, unsure of what to say. He’d always prided himself on being self-reliant, on knowing that he had his own back. But as he watched Eames’ ass bob back and forth as he examined the goods contained in the crate, Arthur felt a little bubble of…something filling his chest.

Eames grunted, sliding further into the crate, his shirt slipping up his back revealing a lickable tanned strip of flesh just above his toned…oh. Something else bubbled up inside of Arthur, far more familiar but just as dangerous.

“Arthur,” Eames said, a worried note in his voice as he withdrew from the container he’d half-climbed into in his attempt to grab as many boxes as possible. “You wouldn’t happen to know what all goes into Turkish Delight, would you?” Arthur tore his eyes back up to meet Eames’ concerned expression, flushing slightly.

“Mostly corn starch and pistachios, I think, why?”

“So it’s not fudge with powdered sugar on top?”

“Not to my knowledge, Eames. What is with your obsess- did you say ‘powdered sugar’?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Eames hummed the affirmative.

“Are you _sure_ it’s powdered sugar?”

“The possibility does seem to be decreasing rapidly.”

“Eames,” Arthur’s voice warned Eames not to push him right now.

Eames held up his find, about a kilos worth of a white, powdery substance encased in plastic.

“Tell me that’s not heroin,” Arthur implored.

“Okay, that’s not heroin.”

“…Is it?”

“Of course it bloody is, Arthur! Did you really expect him to be smuggling fudge?” Eames laughed and Arthur went on the defensive.

“It’s very good fudge!” He argued.

Eames nodded, conceding the point.

“Unfortunately Mr. Reynolds isn’t as advanced as you and I, he seems to feel the need to delve into the seedy underworld of the drug smuggler. I could probably give you a decent evaluation of its quality, but I’m a bit beyond my rebellious youth and as there are bound to be armed men here any moment, we should refrain from altering our reality at present,” Eames turned back to the crate, chucking the brick of heroin inside and scooping out several boxes of fudge.

“Here,” he said tossing a couple to Arthur. “No reason for this adventure to end on such a solemn note.”

“You’re stealing fudge from a drug smuggler?”

“ _We_ , Arthur, _we_ are stealing fudge from a drug smuggler. He’s obviously not worthy of such a magnificent symphony to the taste buds,” Arthur shook his head, as Eames dove back into the crate, gathering as much fudge as he could into his arms.

Turning to hide his smile from Eames, Arthur tucked the boxes into their duffel bag along with the crowbar they’d used to pry open the crates. Arthur’s smile quickly evaporated though as he caught a flash of movement out the warehouse window.

“Eames,” he whispered, grabbing the duffel and creeping over to Eames side. “We’re about to have company.” Eames crouched next to Arthur, hidden between crates.

“What is i-“ something crashed through the window. “Ah,” Eames said. He and Arthur just had time to duck and cover their heads before the flashbang exploded.

~*~*~

Hours later; after the firefight, explosions and adrenaline fueled flight from the country, Arthur and Eames found themselves hold up in a hotsheets motel stitching various lacerations.

“It’s just not fair,” Eames lamented as Arthur tended the bullet graze to Eames’ right shoulder. “All that delicious fudge, gone in one fiery fell swoop,” Eames sighed pitifully. “Did you have to use the rocket launcher, Arthur? It was only one team after all, we could have taken them.”

“Firstly, Mr. Eames, as I recall you’re the one who encouraged me to ‘dream bigger’,” Arthur finished tying off the last stitch and proceeded to bandage the wound. “Secondly, I didn’t bring the rocket launcher, they did. They have no one to blame but themselves,” Arthur said, taping down the gauze. “And thirdly,” Arthur placed the duffel in Eames’ lap, opening it to reveal several firearms, a couple grenades, one crowbar and safely ensconced at the bottom, two boxes of chocolate fudge.

Eames eyes widened in disbelief, a hug grin blooming across his bruised and bloodied face as he almost reverently picked up the fudge.

“Arthur,” Eames breathed out gently. “I could kiss you.”

And he did.

  
3)  
“Eames, in the name of public decency, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m eating flavored, frozen water from a long, plastic tube, Arthur.”

“Do you have to eat it like that?”

“Do you have a problem with my technique, darling?”

“I honestly don’t think I can answer that question, Eames.”

“Hmm,” Eames mused. “Perhaps you need further demonstration then.”

Arthur watched, transfixed, as Eames slid the frozen treat in and out of his mouth. Eames lips were wrapped tightly around the plastic and he hollowed out his cheeks as he sucked the flavoring from the ice. Eames brought up a hand and began stroking the tube up and down, up and down, the heat from his body making the ice melt slightly so he could coax it further out of its wrapping, past those sinful lips and into the tight heat of his mouth.

Eames locked eyes with Arthur and sped up the movement of his hand and letting out little “mmm”s of delight. Arthur leaned closer in his chair, the few feet between their desks too much and not nearly enough distance. Eames pulled off with a wet plop, rubbing the head of the ice against his frozen lips, staining them with red dye number forty. Arthur wondered if he’d taste like cherry.

Eames tongue darted out to swipe at the tip, Arthur’s breath caught and he knew the other man had noticed. Eames brought his tongue out again, giving the ice a long, leisurely lick. Arthur whimper-moaned when the ice disappeared once more into Eames’ mouth and he began sucking it in and out again.

Arthur lost track of time, his reality instead being measured in the shrinking length of ice and the movement of Eames’ body.

At long last, far too soon, it was over. Eames sucked the last inches into his mouth, allowing them to melt in his heat and swallowing them down.

Arthur couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do more than stare at Eames’ swollen, over-red lips and _want_ so deeply he could feel it in his bones. Eames stood up and Arthur was relieved to see he wasn’t the only one sporting a massive erection. Eames walked over to Arthur and leaned over him, hands going to his armrests, boxing Arthur in.

“That,” Eames said, voice husky and raw. “Is how you eat an ice pop, Arthur.”

Eames straightened with a wink and walked from the room. Arthur watched him go, wondering why he could still smell cherries.

  
4)  
“Arthur, I demand we stop for doughnuts.”

Oh dear lord, please not this again.

“Eames, we are on a very tight schedule, we don’t have time to get snacks,” Arthur ground out patiently.

“We are impersonating New York City police detectives, Arthur. We must be properly provisioned or the populous will see through our sham of a disguise and it will be all your fault.”

Arthur took a deep breath…and another…one more, before trying again.

“Eames, our badges are the best forgeries money can buy, our handguns are department issue, this car we’re driving belongs to a retired detective, our _suits_ are so generic and off-the-rack that they’re giving me hives; _no one_ is going to guess we’re not cops simply because we aren’t stuffing our faces with pastries.”

“Thank you for the compliment Arthur, I’m flattered that you would be so generous in your praise of my work,” Eames grinned. “Although I’m fairly certain that the doughnut isn’t actually considered a pastry.” Arthur banged his head against the steering wheel.

“My point is,” Arthur said, his voice slightly muffled. “We don’t need to stop for doughnuts.”

“Dearest Arthur, if we don’t have powdered crumbs gracing these abhorrent garments the jig _will_ be up! You might as well suggest we don’t blatantly use our fake badges for free coffee and billyclub immigrants as they depart Ellis Island,” Eames sounded genuinely aghast.

Arthur loathed forgers.

Five minutes later he was parked outside some neighborhood doughnut shop contemplating whether Dom would be really pissed or just slightly put out if he dumped Eames’ body into the Hudson on his way back to the warehouse.

“Darling!” Eames exclaimed as he slid breathlessly into the passenger seat, two bags swinging in his grasp. “You would not _believe_ the selection they have here!”

“I don’t want to hear it Mr. Eames, we are already fifteen minutes behind schedule because of your whim.”

“It is not a _whim_ , Arthur. It is an essential part of our cover ID,” Arthur looked at Eames with thinly veiled contempt as Eames popped a doughnut hole into his mouth. “It is also delicious,” Eames finished, sucking his forefinger into his mouth and sucking off the glazed residue.

Arthur flushed slightly at his antics, hands tightening on the steering wheel as he checked his mirrors and prepared to pull away from the shop.

“Before we go, I have a surprise for you,” Eames announced, digging into one bag. “I know they’re your favorite so don’t even bother pretending you’re not excited,” he pulled out a small box, opening it with a flourish as a heavenly smell filled the car. Scootching over so he was almost in Arthur’s lap he purred, “Bear claws aren’t technically a doughnut, but I’m always willing to make an exception for you, dearest.”

Arthur’s mouth watered, he wasn’t willing to examine whether it was from the bear claw or Eames’ proximity. He was unnerved enough already by the fact that Eames knew his weakness for bear claws, especially since to Arthur’s knowledge he had never discussed doughnuts or doughnut-related desserts with anyone _ever_.

Arthur looked between the offered temptation and the…other offered temptation, licking his lips. They were already seventeen minutes behind schedule; a few more wouldn’t matter….

~*~*~

Arthur tried not to let Eames’ gloating bother him as Eames offered a jelly to yet another shockingly helpful New Yorker. They were getting all the information they needed about the subject, their fake badges got them in the door and Eames stupid face and baked goods got their questions answered.

He felt a bit vindicated when they arrived back at base forty-five minutes later than they had planned, but Dom was on the phone with his kids, one eye on Ariadne and Yusuf who were both under, none of them had noticed.

“See Arthur?” Eames smirked in victory, placing the last doughnut box before Dom and turning back to face Arthur. “Doughnuts are a crucial part of the investigative process.”

Arthur snapped, his hand shooting out to grab Eames by his cheap, department store tie; a satisfied glint in his eye at Eames’ startled “meep”. Arthur clenched his free hand, knuckles turning white. He yanked Eames close enough to feel the fine tremble in his limbs as adrenaline flooded the forger’s system.

“Bear claws _are_ a type of doughnut,” he growled before attacking Eames’ lips with his own.

For one shocked moment Eames stood there while Arthur plundered his mouth, but the faint sweetness lingering on Arthur’s tongue snapped him out of his daze and he began kissing Arthur back just as fiercely.

All too soon Arthur pulled away, Eames’ attempt to follow halted by a firm hand to his chest.

“You had powdered sugar on your lips,” Arthur explained, winking as he walked away.

Eames looked from Arthur’s retreating back to Cobb, a doughnut frozen halfway to his mouth.

“Sorry mate, afraid I’m going to need these back,” he snatched up the box, opening it as he ran after the point man. “Arthur, I think you missed a spot,” he called, pulling out a chocolate with sprinkles and smiling wickedly.

No one, not even Arthur, can resist chocolate and sprinkles.

  
5)  
“Eames, what the hmflr-“ Arthur found himself unceremoniously hauled behind the living room door with Eames’ hand over his mouth and two small children shushing him noisily.

“Quiet, Uncle Arthur,” James whispered loud enough to be heard across the room. “You’re gonna tip him off.”

Arthur instantly went on alert, sliding a knife out from its wrist sheath (Dom had a ‘thing’ about guns around the kids), looking around warily.

“Who is it, Eames?”

“Arthur, you really should put that away, it’s not what you’re thi-“

“Shhh!” Phillipa scolded. “He’ll never come at this rate.”

Arthur reluctantly tucked his knife away, eyes still scanning the room.

“Who won’t come, Phillipa?”

“Santa, silly!”

Arthur blinked.

“Excuse me?” He turned to Eames, certain of who was behind all this.

“You see Arthur, every Christmas Eve a jolly man in a red suit, please don’t wince like that, it’s actually quite striking, flies around the world in his sleigh bringing gifts to all the good girls and boys.”

“And we’re gonna nab him!” James whisper-yelled.

Arthur turned shocked eyes on the three-year-old. “Nab?”

“Uncle Eames told us all about how Santa gets in and out of people’s homes without ever being caught,” Phillipa interjected, sounding a bit exasperated at the continued conversation. “He’s even better than you ‘n Uncle Eames ‘n daddy, so we’re gonna catch him so he can share his secret, that way you wont get hurt anymore.”

Arthur had wondered how the children would handle him coming to visit a few months ago with a broken arm and a bad limp caused by a mark’s security team and their overzealous use of firearms…but this possibility hadn’t even occurred to him.

“You’re going to kidnap and interrogate Santa?” Those are words no one should ever be forced to utter, Arthur sighed sadly at the loss of his last shred of innocence.

“Technically Arthur, the man _is_ breaking and entering into a private residence, their privet residence in fact, they are well within their rights to detain him,” Eames tried to reassure him. “The children and I cooked up this scheme while you were convalescing after your unfortunate accident several months ago.”

“We just need to catch him and explain how important this is, he won’t say no, not when it’s our Christmas wish,” Phillipa looked earnestly up at Arthur. “Right?”

James and Eames turned equally earnest and puppy dog-like eyes to Arthur.

“Of course not sweetie, he’s Santa Clause, it’s his job to try and grant wishes on Christmas,” Arthur had the sinking feeling he was digging himself into a very deep hole. How was he going to provide James and Phillipa…and Eames, with a Santa Clause in the next few minutes? There was no way that-

Wait.

“Phillipa,” Arthur began cautiously. “How do you plan to catch Santa? Like your Uncle Eames said, he’s the best there is at getting in and out of places without being seen.”

Phillipa smiled and began to giggle in a way which terrified Arthur. Eames cleared his throat nervously and had trouble meeting Arthur’s eyes.

“Eames, what did you do?”

“Well, um…you see, darling, the children had the same thought and as leaving Santa an offering is something of a tradition…well,” he looked about guiltily for a moment before bending his head towards Arthur and whispered a barely audible explanation. “We drugged the cookies.”

“And the milk!” James added helpfully.

“You _drugged_ the-“

“SHHH!” Phillipa interrupted. “He’s here!”

They all peered out from behind the door to see a plump, bearded figure in a gaudy suit placing presents beneath the tree.

“Now?” James asked.

“Not yet,” Phillipa commanded. “Wait for it…. Wait for it….”

Santa bit into the cookie, chewing happily and washing it down with a big gulp of milk.

“NOW!” Phillipa shouted. Arthur looked on in horror as she and James sprang from their hiding place throwing a fishing net over jolly old Saint Nick.

“Eames,” he squeaked helplessly.

“Don’t worry, Arthur,” Eames said soothingly. “Cobb’s in the suit and he’s wise to the entire ploy. Everyone was quite…distressed after your encounter and planning this helped to while away the long hours. Granted I didn’t expect the little hoodlums to recall our scheme and insist on enacting it this Christmas, but it’s all in good fun.”

“Eames,” he said again.

“Yes Arthur?” Eames asked gazing worriedly into Arthur’s eyes.

“Phillipa is kicking Santa.”

Eames whipped around as the little girl took aim for Santa’s kidneys.

Dom flopped about weakly on the floor.

“Oh, bugger! I told Cobb not to actually eat or drink anything we put out,” Eames jumped up and ran over to the Cobbs, picking up Phillipa with a distressed, “No sweetie, we talked about this. You only use physical persuasion if the subject isn’t cooperating.”

Arthur sat back observing the chaos, a smile forming on his face as he watched James and Phillipa commit assault, with Eames’ assistance, in the hope that he wouldn’t be hurt again, and began to laugh.

  
+1)  
Two hours after the ambush Arthur exited James and Phillipa’s room having read them a quick story and double checking for monsters (out of concern for the monsters, he explained, after seeing them handle Santa he was worried about the poor beasts). Dom was already safely hidden away in his room with several icepacks and several more aspirin, his children none the wiser.

Arthur descended the stairs and headed into the dining room where he found Eames nursing a scotch.

“Well that was quite the adventure,” Arthur teased, pouring himself a glass.

“Yeah,” Eames huffed out a laugh. “That didn’t exactly go according to plan.”

“ _You_ had a plan?”

“Yes,” Eames defended. “A good plan. One might even call it Arthur-like in its detail.”

“Hmmm…well I hope my plan works out better than yours did.”

“Oh, so now _you_ have a plan. What pray tell Arthur, would your plan be?”

“It’s a very simple plan,” Arthur smiled. “One might even call it Eames-like in its depravity.”

Eames quirked his head in interest.

“Is that so, darling?”

“It is, Mr. Eames.”

“Well don’t keep me in suspense, Arthur. Let’s hear your wonderful plan”

“It goes a little something like this,” Arthur gulped the last of his scotch and straddled Eames’ waist, kissing along his jaw up to Eames’ ear. Arthur gently bit the lobe and whispered, “You, me, chocolate covered strawberries and whipped cream.”

Eames’ groan was a bit too close to a whimper for his liking, but he decided that he didn’t care as he nuzzled Arthur’s delectable throat while visions of a naked Arthur danced in his head.

“But first,” Arthur said, standing up and pouring himself another glass. “We’re going to clean up the living room and make sure none of the kid’s presents got squished when they jumped Dom.”

Eames’ groan was definitely a whimper this time.

“You’re a cruel man, Arthur,” Eames complained. He took another sip of his drink before following Arthur into next room.

“And you engineered an assault and battery on Kris Kringle. Consider this karmic retribution.”

“To be fair, Phillipa did most of the planning. I just provided the sedatives and cookie recipe.”

Arthur snorted as his nimble fingers glided over wrapping paper and he gently shook boxes making sure nothing sounded broken.

“Of course, you _just_ provided drugs to a six-year-old. You’re completely innocent.”

“It’s not my fault the child is an evil mastermind, Arthur.”

“Phillipa _was_ brilliant,” Arthur admitted reluctantly. “Did you also help her come up with all those questions?”

“No, it was all her own work,” Eames smiled ruefully at Arthur’s raised eyebrow. “Okay, so I advised her a bit, but most of them were hers. The girl’s a natural interrogator; she’ll either be the best extractor in the world or the cop who finally locks us up.”

“You’ll forgive me if I hope she doesn’t go into the family business…or arrest us,” Arthur stood, the last of the presents checked and deemed fit for opening come morning.

“Holding out for Dr. Phillipa Cobb, are we?”

“More like Madame President Phillipa Cobb.”

“She’d manage it too, probably end up solving world hunger and colonizing the moon while she was at it; the young lady is terrifying when she puts her mind to something.”

Arthur and Eames grinned, clinking their glasses together in a silent toast to the future.

Eames drained his glass and looked at Arthur expectantly.

“Now, what was that you said about whipped cream, darling?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and pulled Eames into a kiss.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Eames.”


End file.
